Tides of Honour by Genevieve Graham

that.”
    â€œOh! Women are doing men’s jobs?”
    â€œNo, no, darling. We’re doing our own jobs,” Marjory said with a chuckle. “Just so happens the men did them before we did.”
    â€œSo . . . they get paid?”
    Jean nodded. “Yes, and it’s good pay too, I hear. That’s what Sophie said, wasn’t it, Marjory?”
    Marjory nodded, smiling, then placed their order when the waitress stopped by.
    Audrey waited until the waitress had left. “Do you work there?” she ventured.
    â€œNot there,” Marjory said, “but that’s only because we’re already working at the post office. We only just got off our shift.”
    â€œOh!” Jean suddenly exclaimed, reaching for the paper by Audrey’s teacup. “Are you going?”
    â€œI . . . I don’t know. A woman handed me this outside, and I—”
    â€œDo you know what it is?” Marjory asked. When Audrey shook her head, she nodded. “That’s all right.”
    Jean jumped in. “We are fighting for a woman’s right to vote.”
    â€œAnd not just that. It’s about democracy and justice for all. Equality.”
    Audrey raised her eyebrows, listening, hoping something they said would soon make sense.
    â€œDo you know that men are paid twice what we’re paid for doing the same job?” Jean crossed her arms and leaned back with a little huff. “It’s not as if we’re asking for charity. Just equality.”
    â€œI didn’t—”
    â€œWomen all over the world are pulling together, demanding justice,” Marjory continued.
    â€œThat’s right,” Jean confirmed.
    Marjory nodded with vigour. “They’re being imprisoned, going on hunger strikes, being forcibly fed. Treated like animals, really. It’s horrendous.”
    Audrey felt as if she were watching a tennis match, looking from one woman to the other.
    Jean turned her bright smile on Audrey. “So you’ll come tonight?”
    Audrey could think of nothing else she’d rather do. In fact, she could think of nothing else she might have done anyway. “Of course. You’ll have to give me directions, though.”
    They finished the pot of tea, then ordered another and sat for a companionable hour, sheltered from the miserable London day, and Audrey made the first two friends she’d had in years.

TEN
    A few hours later, Audrey, Marjory, and Jean were in the thick of dozens of women, listening to speeches, learning what was being planned. Audrey was fascinated with the stories, and her mind couldn’t help but return time and time again to her mother. How she would have loved these women! How she would have jumped in with both feet and danced to their speeches! She imagined her up there, probably wearing a ruby red gown, her long black hair shining, her eyes alive with rebellion.
    â€œDeeds, not words!” she would have cried, leading the charge. “Equal pay for equal work!”
    Audrey had been only a child when her mother had died, fading away before her little girl’s eyes in a clinic set up for folks like them. People without true homes. Her mother had been an actress, a dancer, a gypsy who held men captive with one slow blink. She had been fearless and free. Right up until the end, when the horrible, hungry illness had stolen the twinkle from her eyes. Audrey wondered if her mother had known about this movement back then, or if it had even been going on when she was alive.
    Throughout the meeting, her hand skimmed over the back of her flyer, her pencil busy with curves and shadows. She mentallycatalogued the colourful outfits, the expressions of the women, planning how she would paint it all. For she would have to do that, she knew. She wanted to remember this occasion, and painting everything she saw was how she kept her memories vivid.
    The meeting ended after they arranged for another one and told